


Gouge Away

by fadedpeach



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Depression, Existentialism, M/M, PTSD, basically any canon compliant unpleasantries, but hey they have eachother, eldritch horrors abound, slowburn, suicide ideation, the romance isn't as big of a factor in the first few chapters as CRIPPLING PTSD is, things'll get worse before they get better, vague references to cultural/religious prejudice, what if we found redemption on the old road... but we were both boys 0-0
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedpeach/pseuds/fadedpeach
Summary: Redemption never did come in that swift bolt of absolution that Dismas had been promised. Instead, another was struck down in his place. Yet another to add to the list.But maybe it was as Reynauld had once told him- dying as a form of penance seemed cheap.They could never leave the Hamlet behind, its revelations threatening to catch up with them no matter how far they traveled. But at least there was solace in knowing that they had seen the same horrors, even if those horrors couldn't be put into words.[ A fic about moving on, but not quite. ]
Relationships: Crusader/Highwayman (Darkest Dungeon), Dismas & Reynauld (Darkest Dungeon), Dismas/Reynauld (Darkest Dungeon)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Gouge Away

What was there truly left to do with the emptiness surrounding him? An emptiness only _seen_ by three human pairs of eyes.  
  


Well, maybe two. Dismas wasn’t sure if he could call the heir “human” anymore.  
  


It had been about a month, give or take, since he had gone to meet the Heart of Darkness, but he could see the convulsing blob of muscle when he closed his eyes as if it had been yesterday. The passage of time didn’t really absorb anymore. Time slogged forward instead, the days melting and blending together. He slept when he pleased, only eating when hunger became unbearable and took control over his will, just as all things did. Death was a given, sure, but it was far from the only force with his clutches on him- there was the inevitability of him being kicked out of the estate, the inevitability of him taking another life, and then there was the inevitability of the earth splitting open, gushing into the universe as something ravenous and festering was birthed from the remains of what that had once thought itself to “matter”. But it wasn’t those things as much as the inevitability of hunger that bothered him. He’d try to sleep through it when he could, for some reason finding it hard to accept that he was an animal that had to eat and was controlled by the same things that controlled everyone else.  
  


Or perhaps it was just melancholia.  
  


The festivities had lasted a week. Dismas had watched from the window of the gambling hall when they had set up the maypole and had promptly thrown down his chips to return to his barrack when the singing started. He did whatever he could to drown out the noise with his own whistling and humming until his throat was raw and he could all but imagine his own vocal cords slapping together (he hated his newfound awareness of the tangibility of _meat_ ).   
  


Dismas had kept his shutters drawn for a month until the sound of that damnable clinking.   
  


He rose from his bed and slowly drew them open, the familiarity of the noise rivaling whatever instinct of his made him barricade himself. The sunlight was piercing- he growled against it, squinting as he leaned over the window. Just as he was finally adjusting to the brightness, more light flashed into his eyes, warping and refracting off of a walking man of iron. “D-Damn you-” he hissed, swinging a leg over the sill. “What are you wearing that blasted thing out and about for?!”  
  


It had been the first thing he had said to either Reynauld or the heir since their foray into the darkness.  
  


The crusader stopped in his path, turning to look at him. After a long pause, he lifted his visor with the back of his thumb and looked upon him with a gaze that lacked any warmth. “Because I’m leaving.”  
  


“You’re leaving,” Dismas mirrored back, his brow furrowing. It wasn’t a surprise. An eternity elsewhere and an eternity on the estate were both just that- an eternity. He couldn’t possibly have thought that he wouldn’t see the estate reflected elsewhere-  
  


A scoff. “I am indeed.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “I am surprised to see you here.  
  


“Are you?”  
  
  
Reynauld paused for a moment, glancing over him and taking note of his state of dress. “I half expected you to have taken your own life by now.”  
  


Dismas let out a disbelieving snort.  
  


The bearded man dropped his visor with a soft _clank._ “Glad to see that I was wrong... Well, farewell, friend.” He turned and began to walk with a purpose towards the slope of the hill, his meager leather pack of supplies strapped to his back.   
  


His blood boiled. Dismas reared up against the window frame and kicked over his other leg. He dropped to the ground before stalking after him. “What good do you think getting out of here’ll do? It’s all the same, _everywhere,_ you of all goddamn people should know-”  
  


Reynauld came to a halt with a single _cling_ , looking over his shoulder to presumably glare at him. “Doing anything is better than wallowing in such pointless things as _regret._ ” He waved a hand. “I have the capacity to bear the burden of progress.”  
  


“Self-righteous bullshit!” Dismas spat. “You can’t give value to- straight _momentum.”  
  
_

“What exactly do you propose I do then? Live in _this_ graveyard?” He could hear the bitterness in his voice.  
  


“Wouldn’t be your first jaunt into the graveyard,” he sneered, and almost immediately regretted it. He watched Reynauld twitch. Ah, shit. Well- he didn’t dare apologize. He just deflected with a throaty cough into his fist. And when that obviously did no good, Dismas swallowed and gestured vaguely at the stagecoach. “Su’pose I can’t blame you. Just figured… you’d make more of a show of it. If you, ah, left.”  
  


Silence settled on them for a couple of seconds before Reynauld moved. Visor still down, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “I apologize, friend. I just find that there’s little to say these days.”

  
He huffed out a noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. “Aye.”  
  


Dismas waited for him to retract his hand, but he didn’t. He just held it there and (presumably) tried to hold his gaze in what he had decided in the past was likely some fraternal bonding display he had picked up in the holy war. He responded like he usually did- by grinning like a nervous dog. Despite this, it was more familiar of a routine than he had once recalled. It eased him in some ways and pitched him in others.   
  


When he finally retracted his hand, Dismas stood up a little straighter. “Are you finally going home?”  
  


“If I couldn’t then, I most certainly can’t _now_ ,” Reynauld murmured, turning one foot towards the Hamlet gates. Waiting.  
  


“Ah. A shame.” He paused. “Heading down the old road?”  
  


“Seems to be the best option, yes.”  
  


And without another beat, “I know my way down that road as well as anyone if you find yourself in need of an escort.”  
  


If Reynauld left, part of the highwayman knew that so would his chance at closure- well, not quite closure. But the closest he could come to it. No matter how many times he tried to write in his journal about what he had seen when he had gazed into the abyss, he couldn’t articulate it. Even if he couldn’t speak about it to his traveling companion, he at least _knew.  
  
_

A laugh fought up somewhere deep in Reynauld’s gut. It jostled Dismas from his thoughts. “Fine. If you _must_ insist.” He chuckled darkly. “Grab your things- and be quick about it. I don’t want to cause too much of a fuss.”  
  


Dismas’ brow creased. “Aye- the heir?”

  
“No, not because of the heir, but- I'd rather they… didn’t take notice of our departure, regardless.” He turned to gaze up at the manor on its hilltop. “If they haven’t already.”

* * *

  
Dismas had met his fair share of calculating people. Being calculating was, in his opinion, a _damn fine_ attribute to have when it meant keeping as many people alive as possible. And it wasn’t as if the heir lacked empathy either. They had chosen to abandon missions before for the sake of their men and women and he had seen them anguish over the losses of his fallen comrades (and that had included Reynauld when he had had his “accident”). While it became increasingly clear that this was because the heir saw many of their fallen adventurers as lost assets, Dismas still couldn’t find fault with them. It was a tactician’s approach. It was somewhat cruel, but the resulting preservation of life made it justifiable. None of this was what bothered Dismas about the heir- not so much as it bothered him that this trait seemed to be _mutable._ Because when Reynauld had had his aforementioned “accident”, the heir had thrown themself at his grave and mourned him _violently.  
  
_

Dismas doubted that it was merely a divine miracle that had caused Reynauld to come stumbling out of the weald, dazed and bloodied but most certainly _alive._ When asked what had happened, he hadn’t been able to give an answer, just as confused as the Hamlet’s people who had seen him _buried._ Eventually, though, he began attributing it to a divine miracle. That the Light hadn’t seen him yet fulfill his true purpose and had sent him back to finish his conquest in its name. Dismas never argued with Reynauld about this, because Reynauld hadn’t seen the heir pouring out unlabeled bottles onto his freshly dug grave.   
  


He hated them now… even then, he could forgive them, because regardless of what darkness the heir had entangled themselves in, Reynauld stood before them once again in flesh and blood. No, he hated them now because he could see that the heir’s devotion was not just limited to Reynauld. When the Heart of Darkness had called them to strike him down, to deliver his redemption, the heir met his eyes with sadness and sentiment- something arbitrarily placed on him simply because he had been the _first.  
  
_

And then, they had looked away from him- and had struck down Junia.  
  


His redemption would never come.  
  


The sun had already gone down on the Old Road. The hazy, orange sky had faded into a dark, sickly umber, inviting the November chill to creep into his bones. The stagecoach was rickety but held nothing but their belongings inside. Even if he weren’t on guard, Dismas knew better than to trust the false security of the stagecoach’s box.   
  


Reynauld cleared his throat, just loud enough to be heard over the creaking of the stagecoach as they rolled over one of the many hills of the old road. Dismas stirred immediately- brooding or not, his reflexes were still quick. Rubbing his eyes with the hand not clutching his revolver, he shifted his numb leg and took a moment to look up at the stars. Reynauld mumbled some grievance about one of the horses. Dismas almost felt bad for the poor creatures. He had no clue how they had managed to survive for so long on the weald’s tainted grasses…  
  


Reynauld cleared his throat again. “...do you think the heir will send after us for the stagecoach…?” he asked, his voice gruff with something that was almost humorous.   
  


Dismas could feel the wind in his teeth as he opened his mouth to speak. Right. “No,” he grumbled, pulling his scarf up over his mouth.  
  


* * *

  
The road was long and stretched for miles upon miles, so it was impossible to travel the whole stretch in one night. Dismas knew that it was best to make camp before darkness. Bandits often struck travelers right before the witching hour- and unless things had changed since he had been paid to escort the young heir, they were safest making camp at this hour.  
  
  
Reynauld had taken off his helmet and had settled by the dim fire, just large enough to warm them without creating a noticeable smoke stack. He was working his way through his slim share of rations. Dismas only ate about half of his own.

  
“I know the rounds that they make. They won’t ambush us here,” he mumbled, checking his revolver ammo.  
  
  
“Pleased to hear it.” Reynauld kept his green eyes focused on the fire. 

  
Dismas sighed and leaned back against the rocky cliffside. “So where’ve you been the past month? In the transept?”

  
“Mostly, yes. Although it has forced me to confront how insufficient the abbey is… especially on such unholy ground…” Reynauld let out a huff. “But praying is the only thing I could do in such a place. I must… bring the Light’s promise back into my heart.”

  
“I wouldn’t have thought it left to begin with…” Dismas murmured absentmindedly. “You were always such a zealot.”

  
Reynauld furrowed his brow but did not respond.

  
It seemed that they had many quiet nights to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy hey, this is the first real fanfic I've started writing in... about five years. So apologies for the shortness of the first chapter, I'm still getting back into the swing of writing fic :,) 
> 
> The next chapters will get progressively longer as we get into the meat of things.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


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